boy

He's from Florida. Orlando. We've been talking via the internet for about the past two years or so. Mostly along the lines of "hey how goes it?" and "damn you're a hot man." Until a few months ago. His boy of several years severed their relationship. I developed this yen to find a Dad.

About that time, things got really interesting. He's in Philadelphia on business this weekend. We're gonna meet up. In anticipation of his visit, he sent up a box. My father picked it up at the post office today. My father was excited, because the box was an egg crate. My father is a big fan of poultry. He raised chickens in his back yard in Philadelphia when he was a boy. He went to National Farm School (now Delaware Valley Agricultural College) and majored in poultry management. His first job with the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania was as an egg inspector. We always had chickens when I was growing up. Interestingly, Orlando Dad is and for a long time has been involved with chickens as well. (Now that's an interesting bit of synchronicity...)

I didn't have a chance to open up the box before I had to head out to welding school. But I rushed home and sliced it open. Inside was 'the Boot Suit.' It belongs to Dad Orlando. I'm gonna wear it. Also, a thick black leather coller with studs. I'll be wearing that, too. And finally, the box held a CB-2000. I'm wearing it now.

The CB-2000 is a male chastity device. It's basically a hard plastic cage attached to a cock ring. The cage goes over the shaft of the penis. It secures with a small padlock. Getting it on took some effort. I couldn't lose my erection. I sat down and opened up some bills, adding up what I owe and trying to figure out how I was gonna pay everybody I owe. That did the trick.

The box contained a padlock to fasten it on. But no key. SIR has the key. So from now until he decides otherwise, my dick belongs to SIR.

After work on Friday, I'll rush home and pick up my dog, the box and its contents, an overnight bag, and a gear bag. Per SIR's instructions, I'll be wearing jeans, a white t-shirt, and my leather jacket. I drop off Faithful Companion at this great dog bording place (thirteen dollars a night! you can't beat that!), then drive to Doylestown and from there take the train down to Philadelphia. Then, for as long as SIR needs me (or Monday at 7am, which ever comes first), I belong to SIR. Not just my dick. All of me.

To say I'm looking forward to this is the understatement of the decade. In a sense, I've waited all my life for this: to belong to a man, if only for a weekend. I think I'll be changed on Monday. This is more than bottoming. This is something more. I'm not sure what the word for it might be. This is submission. I think that's a good word.

Egad. Look at the time. I've got to walk the dog, make lunch for tomorrow, brush my teeth, and get to bed. Usually, the last thing I do every night is jerk off (once a day for good prostate health!). But not tonight. And not tomorrow night.

Not till SIR decides that I can do that.

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